


May you never wander too far

by soondubu



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Gore, Horror, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Supernatural Elements, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 23:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20023021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soondubu/pseuds/soondubu
Summary: Written for Yeolliepopday: Round 4ーーーChanyeol loves Baekhyun enough to handle anything, even an impossible secret like this. At least, he thought he could.





	May you never wander too far

**Author's Note:**

> All credit to my most favorite fantasy writer of all time, Peter Beagle. I'm sorry if I accidentally wrote your story again; it's been too long since I've read it.

When Baekhyun stirs in the night, Chanyeol almost forgets why. It begins with more small sounds than usual, soft still, but insistent, like a dog that smells something in the air but isn't yet sure whether to bark or growl. Next come the same playful puppy kicks he uses to shuck the blankets in the summer, though they feel less like irritation and more like he's trying to run from something. Or towards something. Suddenly, Chanyeol is very _awake_ , in time to feel Baekhyun leaving bed completely, tp hear bare feet padding to the door in a hurry— _patpatpatpatpat_ —but not in time to stop him. Chanyeol reaches for Baekhyun's pillow instead and clutches it to his chest as the front door shuts with a decisive _clunk_. He lies there, blinking in the dark and frowning, his mouth and nose pressed into the fabric soaked in the scent of Baekhyun's shampoo and sweat.

It's a full moon tonight.  


If Baekhyun had never told him, Chanyeol could have gone his whole, blissful life without knowing the truth. Sometimes he thinks he'd be happier in the dark. Always, though, Baekhyun's smile—warm, genuine, fond, and coquettish all at once—reminded him that the light was better, even if the truth was difficult to look at sometimes.

Baekhyun had waited until their fifth date to tell Chanyeol about his lycanthropy. Chanyeol had dropped an entire bottle of soju on the floor in surprise, and Baekhyun had ping-ponged between apologizing to him and cursing at himself as he cleaned up the mess. Chanyeol did not believe him then, perhaps out of deliberately lain blinders, but the signs became harder to ignore now that they were illuminated. Like how weeks after his apartment stopped smelling like soju, Baekhyun continued wrinkle his nose when he first entered. (Of course, he was too polite to say anything.) Like how he always gave a small, full-body shiver when stepping out of the shower before wrapping up in a robe. Like how he would disappear once, sometimes twice a month, in the middle of the night, with the urgency of a full bladder at the first rest stop in a long journey. Baekhyun never explained it, he never reminded Chanyeol of that awkward confession about his condition, but he didn't have to; what other reason could there possibly be?

Chanyeol worried about it intermittently for the first couple of months of their relationship, but all the more so, nearly obsessively, after they moved in together six months later. Sometimes he would wake when Baekhyun woke; other times he would wake minutes or hours later to an empty bed. Every time, his heart would slide slowly to his stomach. Almost every time, Baekhyun would slouch back in after breakfast, looking ragged and unhappy. It was much worse when he came home alert, and agitated.

The first time, Baekhyun tried desperately to play it off as energy from a morning run. Chanyeol had eyed him with skeptical concern as he slid eggs over his rice. Baekhyun had laughed a little too loud before making a show of casually burying himself in his phone. He stayed like that through breakfast, hardly eating, distracted and increasingly hopeful but with a vibrant, taut thread of apprehension in his voice and the lines in his face.

The police found the following month's carcasses before breakfast, but after Baekhyun had already slipped in the door, unusually effervescent. His mood flipped like a switch when Chanyeol pointed to the television with the spatula he'd been using to flip pancakes, the other attached to his hip like a bracer. He felt he may very well collapse without it there to hold him up, the words from the journalist's mouth sobering, and more than enough to ruin an appetite.

The authorities couldn't identify for certain what the remains had been, but supposed they were cats before their bodies were mangled beyond recognition. An online article dared to describe the remains in the way television refused to: a heap of gore, shattered bones and fly-ridden meat, the fur and skin shredded through like paper, with the remaining organs looking half-chewed, as if they had been sampled then rejected. There had been no photos, naturally, but Chanyeol felt his jaw clench in anticipation of climbing bile all the same. Baekhyun did not try to explain or to apologize or to say anything at all in response or in denial, and Chanyeol did not speak to him for the entire day. Still, as they lay in bed, a long arm found its way over a slim waist all the same, and a hand with long, delicate fingers clasped gratefully to a wide, strong hand in thanks, and in tepid relief.  


Chanyeol wakes again and it surprises him. It's the first time he's managed to doze off again after Baekhyun slipped out. Granted, it was only a few minutes, but there's a sliver of hope that maybe he finally sees. Maybe one day he'll even be able to grab onto that hope of normalcy, and pull it towards them. He leaves the pillow in the middle of the bed, crowning the heap of blankets he abandons as he shuffled barefoot into the kitchen. It's too early for coffee, but he starts some anyway. He won't be getting back into bed, and he needs something warm to hold onto. As it brews, he goes to the couch, digging into the cushions for the remote, in the spot where Baekhyun likes to bury it. He turns on the television, flipping through until he spots a news ticker and marquee. It's studio reporting for now, a story about the grand opening of such-and-such's first restaurant. He'll never understand why actors open restaurants if they're not planning on working in them. Chanyeol turns up the volume just a little, and returns to the kitchen to rummage through the fridge for something to nibble at.

When he finally sits, the forecast is showing. The temperatures are finally starting to cool, if only in the evenings. He wonders if that's easier or harder for Baekhyun when he's out...running. It's been a year and a half now, and Chanyeol has never seen the change. He doesn't even know if there _is_ a change. Even now, when he's sitting up like this, awake and alone, he tries hard to convince himself it's something so much more normal, something so much more believable that pulls Baekhyun from their bed. Maybe he really does go on long, long runs. Maybe he's cheating. Maybe something happened on a full moon night that he isn't yet comfortable sharing with anyone, so instead he made up this ridiculous story about being a werewolf so he would have an excuse for time to himself. But Baekhyun should know by now that Chanyeol would never ask so much of him: not to share everything and not to shoulder everything either. And, he has to be honest, the thought of Baekhyun cheating, even intermittently, is far less believable than the idea of him shapeshifting.

It's just after 3 a.m., and the coffee is already cooling in his hands. Against his better judgment, Chanyeol takes a sip and grimaces. He sets the mug down beside the leftover japchae that's also gone cold again, without being touched. As a stock analyst goes over yesterday's highs and lows, Chanyeol's gaze watches the crawl at the bottom of the screen. One is filled with the letters and arrows and numbers that surely match what the reporter is saying, but it's just as boring. The one beneath it has his attention, the one full of an endless string of headlines and half-stories that may or may not be elaborated on by the studio later. It scrolls by with the same slow persistence as the drone of hopes and fears in Chanyeol's head, endless and with no real resolutions in sight. Do they have a future? Could they? Are there other things that Baekhyun is hiding from him? He never quite confessed to the incident with the cats, but he never denied it either. Has there been worse? Has he killed...

Chanyeol frowns, swallowing back the thought along with the vomit in his throat. He settles back against the couch as his chest tightens with anxiety. All this time, he's felt no danger in living with Baekhyun. Even with his confession, maybe _because_ of his confession, he's never felt afraid of him. Baekhyun has never given him reason to be afraid because he's never anything but gentle, doting, focused, and excitable. When they're together, Chanyeol can practically see his tail wagging, can practically feel his _own_ tail wagging. Baekhyun brings a lightness and a brightness to his life that Chanyeol had never known he'd needed, but now could no longer live without. Somehow it had never been the worry of what Baekhyun might do as it had been the worry that something might happen to him that kept Chanyeol awake on these nights. Not until tonight, when suddenly things are so clear it's like he's pieced together a whole other set of clues.

Baekhyun's quirks are endearing, but Chanyeol has _never_ seen the change.  


The news remains uneventful just as Chanyeol remains nauseated. It's a different worry that gnaws at him all night, one he doesn't know how to handle with fidgeting and the occasional slurp of a room-temperature noodle. He's starting a fresh pot of coffee, this one for drinking, when he hears the front door. He doesn't run to greet Baekhyun anymore, hasn't in a long time, but this morning his feet feel rooted to the spot as the latch _clicks_ and the door _clonks_ and Baekhyun heads straight for the shower. Chanyeol waits for the water to start before he pulls a pan from the cabinet, and eggs and butter from the refrigerator.

With the whisper of the shower going, and now the sound of eggs crackling in the pan, the television is no longer loud enough to be heard from another room. Maybe it's for the best, Chanyeol thinks, and he tries to put the night's worries—and the morning's realization—out of mind. It becomes easier as the whites cook through, crisping at the edges quickly because he has the heat too high. He turns it down, but flips them all to let the yolks cook just a little while he searches the fridge for some leftover meat to warm up. There's nothing, so he scours the freezer and sighs. He shouldn't have been picking at the japchae all night.

"Teriyaki eggs?"

Chanyeol shouts and drops the package of chicken in his hand, some prepackaged thing he doesn't remember buying. Baekhyun laughs gently, and approaches on light feet to pick up the bag for him. He holds onto it, cradling it like a ball in the crook of his arm as he observes Chanyeol up close, with narrowed eyes and the shadow of a smirk on his face. Chanyeol notes he looks tired. Not just tired but worn out, as if neither one of them had gotten any sleep. His shampoo, fragrant and floral is all Chanyeol can smell, even though the eggs are surely starting to brown, maybe burn. Before Chanyeol can speak—what words, he can't be sure—Baekhyun rolls up onto the balls of his feet and pecks a kiss to the corner of Chanyeol's mouth. Then he slips past Chanyeol to continue cooking their breakfast, plating fried eggs with overcooked yolks before unceremoniously emptying the chicken strips into the pan. Baekhyun swears softly as he scrambles for tongs to remove the frozen packet of teriyaki sauce that tumbled in along with the meat.

Chanyeol wants to laugh. This is nothing unusual at all. It's normal, _boringly_ normal. Baekhyun will always be useless in the kitchen but more than make up for it by picking up Chanyeol's slack with the tidying. They complement each other, like chocolate-covered strawberries, like the blue and orange sky at sunset, like...like a boy and his dog.

Chanyeol can't laugh at that, so he doesn't. He does step closer, and set a hand at Baekhyun's hip to hold him steady while he presses a kiss to the side of his head. Then he's away again, his hand pulling back too fast, as if Baekhyun were too hot to touch. His fingers had brushed a hip bone that jutted too sharply, and an image of a bloody, ravaged, pointed heap of meat had flashed through his mind and was gone again. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches into the cabinets for two clean mugs.

"Are you feeling all right?" Baekhyun asks and now, at last, Chanyeol laughs. It only causes the smile to drop off Baekhyun's face completely, like an egg oozing out of its shell. "Let me check–"

"I'm all right," Chanyeol says, taking a step back. Baekhyun's concern changes to something far more wounded in an instant, but neither of them say anything.

Chanyeol turns after one too many beats and pours them each a coffee before fumbling through cabinets again for sugar to add to his own. Cupping the hot mug in both hands, he brushes past Baekhyun and back into the living room, to stand in front of the television and watch the ticker again. It still hasn't finished, doesn't seem to have even taken a break, and the anchor is talking about an upcoming visit from a foreign dignitary. Or to one. Chanyeol isn't sure because he isn't really listening. All his focus is on the headlines inching their way across the bottom of the screen, his breath held in anticipation of...

Of what, exactly? Can he even say it?

Chanyeol isn't sure how long he's stood there, but soon enough the mug in his hand is cold but full and Baekhyun is approaching him, hesitant. A little shamed? When he hears a soft call of his name, Chanyeol tears himself from the screen immediately and sees Baekhyun, smaller than usual, his lip between his teeth and his proverbial tail between his legs. "Breakfast is ready," he says, shifting his weight rather than come any closer.

"Baekhyunnie," Chanyeol says gently. He sets the mug on the coffee table and approaches Baekhyun hands first, wrapping his arms around him like a blanket, pulling him in and burying his nose and mouth in that scent again. He breathes deeply, and smells only soap. Baekhyun leans his weight against him, arms bent between them and both hands flat against Chanyeol's chest with his nose buried between them, and against the hollow of his throat. Chanyeol swallows down his suspicions, and brushes an affectionate hand over Baekhyun's back. "I love you," he whispers.

"I love you, too," is the reply, and it's overflowing with the guilt Chanyeol wishes he had truly imagined.

Chanyeol's hand stops so that he can place them both at Baekhyun's shoulders and push him away a little, to look at him. "You'll tell me, won't you?"

"Tell you what, Yeollie?" Baekhyun forces a brave, bright smile, but the worry bleeds through.

"You'll tell me..." In the end, he really can't say it, and has to find softer words. "You'll tell me if you ever do something really bad? Won't you?"

Baekhyun smiles wider, his canines glistening, but his expression somehow dimmer. He nods, but doesn't answer. And Chanyeol realizes it's the first time Baekhyun has ever lied to him.


End file.
